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Poetry

The Rest of Time

In an orchard, apples are ripening, making their thin branches to bend in selfless burden. The harvest is here- no hours remain for pruning or grafting.

The breeze rustles the paths of the gardeners who have only to gather the bounty that withstood an eternal year of toil. Meanwhile, fallen, rotten, and soured fruits were lost to the wasps and worms.

Delirious with sweetness that now makes itself fully known, feasters gaze at the stars in peace. There is no thief left to come steal, none who still thirst for blood. The rains and snow are now gentle and whispering, and the winds only tousle with the intention of delight, murmuring mysteries to keen observers.

Here is a city that never sleeps for the reason that there is no need – the streets are illuminated always, the ramblers and galavanters guileless and trustworthy. The flowers in proportionately-peopled parks are lovingly tended, and propagated to any wanting patch of barren soil.

Both the boisterous and reserved have no wants, other than to be in one another’s company, and speak of God and his various gifts, and how they are bestowed upon every soul, in a continuing call to creation.

Wholly good is the holy time that has finally come nigh!

No thing is twisted, confused, nor obscured –

In sorrow’s stead comes the final word.

Categories
Favorites Poetry

Good Versus Right

I feel that my skin is being pulled every which way

As I tiptoe with a cradled matter around people I live with.

I pray that the different wisdoms in my life

Don’t collide, divide and leave me severed from head to toe.

That’s how Saint Corona perished, torn between two palms –

Red bursting forth instantaneous, a horrendously awe-worthy aerial display

Between two equally springy trees; she was not unevenly split.

Categories
Favorites Poetry

Wampum

I skip along the stretch of beach and step upon a stone,

I pick it up, skip it on the tousled waters –

I’m most together when I’m alone.

Turning over weathered clam shell fragments,

Never know what I’ll find –

Maybe someday I’ll find a treasure

And be worthy to call it all mine.

Deep periwinkle, royal purple –

Whatever be the hue,

It’s not the amount, but the intensity

That lends its value.

Quality over quantity –

I think that’s my favorite rule;

Evaluating wampum

Is not a job for any fool.